Snowbound
by The Blue Raven
Summary: In the late 1890s, Helen and James get caught in a blizzard while tracking a rare abnormal, and need to warm up afterwards. Helen/James first time fic.


**Snowbound**

 **Summary:** In the late 1890s, Helen and James get caught in a blizzard while tracking a rare abnormal, and need to warm up afterwards. Helen/James first time fic.

 **Rating:** MA

 **Timeline:** Post-Tempus. Future!Magnus is already in the picture for James.

 **Author's Note:** I'm of the school of thought that James Watson and John Druitt were lovers at least a couple of times back in the day (they have so much subtext, especially in "Revelations", and in "Tempus" at one point Helen scoffs and demands to know whether John is jealous of her or of James), so that's mentioned once or twice in the fic, although Druitt never actually appears beyond being discussed by Helen and James. I know some people are sensitive to slash, so it seems fair to warn readers. I personally don't think it effects the story at all, since they'd have ended up discussing John anyway just because of his past with Helen.

 **Snowbound**

The weather had been so fair that morning that neither Helen nor the generally-cautious James had bothered with extra layers or heavy boots. They'd made excellent time in the morning, stopping to enjoy a picnic lunch before reaching the lair of the abnormal they'd been seeking. They hadn't had time to do much more than begin to document its behavior when the winds had shifted and the sky started to darken. By the time they'd realized that it would be wise to head back, the temperature was already dropping. Before they'd made it halfway, the snow had been flying.

They'd been lucky to make it back to their little cabin before visibility went from poor to non-existent. It was what they got, she supposed, for having decided to travel halfway around the world on the spur of the moment, chasing a creature that wasn't going anywhere. They'd just been so bloody excited to hear of the sighting, and frankly sick of London after all the hard work involved in setting up the Sanctuary. Hearing about a credible dire wolf sighting in North America had seemed like a reward for all that hard work and neither had hesitated.

She would never admit it aloud, but their lack of planning and research could have killed them.

"A blizzard in _May_?" James demanded, dragging the door shut and bolting it once they were safely inside the cabin they had managed to rent. "I am never visiting this country again!"

"I think it's the terrain, not the nation," she answered, laughing breathlessly and shaking snow out of her hair.

As tended to happen with any sudden fright or excitement, nearly being trapped in unfamiliar country in a blizzard had her feeling vaguely euphoric, especially on top of their glimpses of a gorgeous, and clearly pregnant, dire wolf. James simply glowered at her and tutted disapprovingly, looking and acting for all the world like a man twice his age. He'd once laughed and joked so often. As of late, he generally seemed almost painfully sombre. It hurt to watch, reminded her of how much they'd both lost, how much he'd taken it all to heart. She wanted to find a way to cure him of it, to bring the old sparkle back to his eyes. After everything he'd done for her, the way he'd always been there, she felt she owed him.

"Get us dry clothes and I'll build a fire," he directed, brusque as if she were no more than a professional subordinate.

It would have angered her, but she saw a shadow in his eyes, the old fear. It had clouded his expression constantly in the days right after they'd discovered the truth about John. He'd been so afraid of losing her, so horrified of how close she'd probably come to death, more than once, sharing the Ripper's bed at the height of his frenzy. He'd cloaked his pain and anxiety then, too, with detachment and professionalism, or with calm compassion when she'd needed that instead. She sympathized enough not only to allow his behavior, but to refrain from pointing it out to him. Nodding faintly, she left the cabin's main room and headed into the back, brushing snow off her uncomfortably-damp shirt and trousers as she went.

The frigidly-cold sleeping alcove was small, but they'd managed two cots, with a curtain between them. James had insisted on that, for the sake of 'decency' as he put it, rather than out of actual modesty. He could be so endearingly provincial at times, with his insistence on propriety. He'd seen her naked before, more than once during missions or medical exams, but he wanted the world to believe that he'd never besmirched her respectability in any manner, let alone one that implied any intimate familiarity.

Smirking at that, she pulled nightclothes from each of their bags, wondering if he even realized that half of London was sure they were Common Law spouses and the other half assumed he only kept her close so people wouldn't realize he had homosexual tendencies. She could just imagine him blushing and sputtering at either revelation, trying to look proper and dignified and failing miserably. Poor James. He was just too _original_ to be a proper gentleman, but he truly did try...

"The tea's almost done," James informed her as she returned to the main area, carrying their nightclothes and a few blankets. Stirring up the fire with far more force than was actually required, he added, "We'll want to check each other's feet for frostbite."

"A wise precaution," she agreed quietly. "James," she added when he didn't look up from the fire.

"Helen?" he answered, still not looking at her.

She sighed softly, setting down her burden on the sofa and coming up behind him, squeezing his shoulder. "James, look at me."

He did, slowly, his face a cautious mask. "Yes?"

"I'm _fine_ ," she breathed, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Look at me, see? A little chilled, but..." She smiled weakly, shrugging and wishing she knew some better way to reassure him.

He leaned into the hand on his face and, for just a moment, so briefly she might have imagined it, there was something almost hungry in his answering look. Then he smiled widely and sweetly, planting a chaste kiss on her forehead and moving past her to the sofa and picking up her nightgown.

"You're so chilled you're white. Get into dry clothes by the fire, darling. I'll go change in the other room," he told her, all friendly solicitude.

"Away from the fire? Don't be silly, James," she answered, giving him a stern look when he tried to look scandalized. "You'll freeze in there. Just turn your back and change out here by the fire."

He looked ready to protest, and got as far as opening his mouth when a convulsive shudder shook his frame. Snorting softly at such irrefutable proof that he was, indeed, chilled to the bone, he gave her a wry smile and picked up his own nightshirt, turning his back with a laugh and a shrug.

"We could be trapped here for some days," he noted, making an annoyed noise and moving his hands to unbutton his shirt.

Helen watched for a second longer than he would have been comfortable with, admiring what she could see of his broad shoulders, then turned her back to him as well, gratefully shedding her soaked, frigid blouse and under-shirt. "Maybe it'll pass as quickly as it came," she answered, tugging on her nightgown before kicking off her shoes and dragging down her trousers. "If not, at least the cabin is well-insulated and there's enough firewood and dried meat in the lean-to to last for weeks. I can hardly complain about the company," she added, sitting and peeling off her socks.

"Yes, well..." he answered, tone somewhere between embarrassed and... timid?

She smiled at that, gingerly rubbing her red, stinging feet. "I've been thinking..."

"Oh?" he asked, moving around behind her for a bit longer, then sitting down next to her and peeling off his own socks. "Do they hurt?" he asked, frowning at her feet and ignoring his own.

"Enough to assure me that I won't lose them," she answered, smiling over at him. Leaning down and pushing his nightshirt up past his ankles, she eyed his own feet, biting her lip. They were mostly pale, but one was blotched with red and, in one spot, a shade near purple. "That doesn't look good, James. Can you feel your toes?"

"A bit," he answered, clearing his throat. "I'm sure once they warm up..."

"You're a bloody awful liar."

"They're not damaged beyond hope," he answered, shrugging.

"Here," she said, sitting back on the sofa and patting her lap. "Give me your feet. We'll try to restore circulation."

He hesitated, then shifted position, leaning back against the far arm of the sofa and lifting his feet into her lap. She could see the conflict on his face, almost hear him whining over how undignified this was. But, to his credit, he _was_ behaving. He hissed when she started rubbing one of his feet briskly in her hands, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, but he nodded for her to continue when she hesitated.

"All right, I can feel my toes again," he told her after a few minutes, sweaty and shaking from the pain, but still smiling weakly. "I _wish_ I couldn't, but..."

"Big baby," she answered, smiling and letting her hands still. The skin was returning to a healthy colour so she allowed herself to breathe again. Cupping his foot gently instead of actively rubbing, she smiled up at him. "Better?"

"Much. Thank you, Helen."

She smiled and nodded, gently rubbing his other foot, and then both ankles even though they looked fine. There was something soothing in caressing him, feeling his skin warm under her fingertips. It didn't give her the thrill that caressing John always had, but it still managed to stir something in her that she hadn't let herself feel in a small eternity. But it was different, as well. She well knew what it was to be maddened by touching and being touched. Being soothed by such contact was altogether new and different. Pleasant, as well, and strangely... promising.

James shyly watched her rubbing his ankles, biting his lip and looking equal parts eager and nervous. Finally, he murmured, "We'll be warmer if..."

She swallowed hard, clearing her throat and squirming where she sat. It probably wasn't an advance, but it was as close as he was ever likely to come to making one. It didn't please her vanity the way John's ardent expressions of devotion had, but it touched her somewhere deep inside, moved her in a fashion she wasn't used to being moved in. James Watson, stoic academic, wanted to _cuddle_ with her.

"James, are you suggesting..." she began, wetting her lips and smiling at him.

"Nothing improper!" he answered quickly, staring at her with wide eyes.

She laughed at that, sliding across the sofa and snuggling close. "No, of course not. Far be it from James Watson to desire anything remotely improper."

"I would never... impugn..."

"An argument could be made," she murmured into his shoulder, smiling to herself as he closed his arms around her, "that, since the fire is warm enough to keep us both alive, this is still highly improper."

"I..." He tensed, gulping audibly. "Perhaps you're right and we should..."

"Hush," she directed, snuggling close and closing her eyes. "It's lovely, James and you know it."

"I... is it proper to..."

"Oh, bugger propriety," she answered shortly, smiling at his horrified look. "That's right. I said a naughty word." Smirking, she slowly drawled, " _Bugger..._ "

"Helen, darling!" he protested quietly, cheeks red in a way that clearly had nothing to do with the cold.

Giggling softly, she kissed one of them. "Gracious, James, just relax, won't you? I only want to keep warm. If you expect more than that, you're just going to have to initiate it yourself."

James swallowed hard at that, looking alarmed but still holding her close. "You are... everything a man might wish to embrace," he whispered after a moment's uneasy silence, seeming almost to be thinking aloud rather than actually speaking directly to her.

She swallowed hard at that, snuggling close and closing her eyes. Coming from him, it was bold. He'd always been a flirt, with women as well as men, but never very direct in making actual advances towards either gender. It took her a moment to compose herself, then she whispered, "Would... 'a man' only wish to hold me?"

"Gracious, no," he murmured, arms tightening around her. "Any worthy man would happily enjoy so much more."

She looked up in surprise, biting her lip at his sheepish, cautious look. Those were not the words she'd expected, not by a long shot. "Oh, James," she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. Ignoring his little gasp, she nuzzled his cheek and kissed it again, murmuring, "What do you mean, any 'worthy' man?"

"I... nothing. You are simply so..."

"Hush," she directed, resting a hand on his knee and smiling as he squirmed. "I deem you worthy, James Watson," she informed him, biting her lip and adding quietly, "I wish I'd had the sense to do so back at Oxford when we were both young and innocent."

He looked shaken at that, and clearly torn. "Helen, my darling," he whispered after a moment, sliding his arms around her and almost cautiously bringing his lips to hers.

She moaned at that, pressing close and returning the kiss eagerly, but she couldn't entirely stifle the giggle that suddenly rose in her throat at an unexpected sensation. James, bless him, looked absolutely horrified. If he hadn't looked hurt, too, she would have kept laughing. Instead, she forced herself to breathe and relax, holding him tight so he wouldn't pull away. He did try, but she was stronger than she looked and he obviously wasn't willing to be as rough as he would have had to be to actually force her to let go.

"Your beard," she explained to him, still chuckling a bit. "It tickles me so, James."

"Oh!" he answered, visibly relaxing. "You had me worried, darling. Shall I shave it off?"

She stared at him with wide eyes. He'd had that beard for as long as she'd known him and the offer was as shocking as it was gratifying. Men of his station were expected to have facial hair and it was the one convention he'd never bothered to flout.

"I wouldn't object to you having a bare face, but I won't demand it," she answered finally, squirming into his lap and smiling at his shocked, happy look. "We can discuss this later, can't we?" she breathed, nuzzling his face.

"I... you do seem to have other things on your mind," James answered, voice a shaky whisper.

"Don't you, James?" she asked, a little startled by how diffident he seemed. "If you'd rather nothing happened-"

"What?" he protested, staring at her with wide eyes and shaking his head. "It's not that, Helen. Not at all! It's merely..."

"James," she sighed, sliding from his lap and taking his hands gently in hers. "There's nothing you can't tell me, darling, and I can't see it changing my feelings for you. Is it... to do with John?" she ventured.

It was no secret that John had taken them both as lovers at university. It must have felt awkward for poor James, both having been John's de facto 'mistress' and sharing an ex-lover with the current object of his desires. Especially when the ex-lover in question had become a jealous, homicidal monster.

He winced at the name, shaking his head. "No, Helen. I'm through letting him come between us. Look, it's no... dark secret, but you may laugh a bit when I tell you."

James seemed so very embarrassed that she wasn't sure whether to tease or be gentle with him. He was a brave and daring man, but could be easily flustered by women. It was a striking contrast. She had once seen him face down a charging rhino without flinching, calmly reloading his dart-rifle and firing, again and again until the thing dropped less than three metres from him. But the same man, irrepressible flirt though he was, would turn tail and flee the moment a pretty girl fluttered her lashes in invitation. What affairs he had with the fair sex must have been both infrequent and purely business transactions.

Not sure what else to say, she squeezed his hands and smiled gently up at him, murmuring, "Tell me, darling. It's all right, I promise you."

"There haven't been any... women. Well, I mean to say..." he began, blushing and clearing his throat.

"Oh, James," she whispered, leaning in and kissing him tenderly to silence the sputtered admission.

It was shocking that a man of his age and class, especially one with so little respect for old-fashioned morality, could have gone his whole life without once succumbing to temptation. If she hadn't known him so well, she might have wondered if he was, perhaps, not interested in females at all, but she knew about a certain 'secret' stash of books and photographs that made his leanings quite clear. His occasional dalliances with men aside, he clearly desired women, appreciated their bodies. He'd apparently just never allowed himself the luxury of taking one to bed. His sense of fair play at work, she supposed.

He always had considered it monstrously unfair that a 'real' man was expected to have 'conquests' while a woman was branded 'whore' for life if she strayed before marriage. He'd had a good deal to say on the matter when he'd found out about her pregnancy, even going so far as to offer to play the part of husband and father himself so she wouldn't have to be marked by any stain of dishonour. Although, in retrospect, there had clearly been more to the offer than she realized at the time.

How long _had_ he been harbouring serious feelings? He'd clearly had a bit of a crush at Oxford, but he'd taken her relationship with John with such good grace that she'd always assumed it couldn't have been serious. She was suddenly starting to wonder.

She'd have to ask him soon. Now, though, it felt almost as if they had unfinished business to conclude. He'd been longing for her and, as frightening as it was to admit to herself after the way her only other affair had ended, she wanted him, too. She'd reflected a lot, recently, that it was a shame he'd never married. He would have been a wonderful husband to some lucky girl: kind, attentive, intelligent, generous, attractive, funny, and loving. He'd never seemed interested in matrimony, and she'd never allowed herself to do more than think about it in passing, wonder at the distance he put between himself and... everyone.

But accepting that he wasn't like other men in regards to romance and relationships hadn't stopped her from seeking refuge in his arms when she was sad or frightened, or from seeking out his company most evenings, for no other reason than because she enjoyed being in his presence. It had almost been easier to grow closer to him without having to worry that he might expect more from her than she was comfortable offering. There'd been a growing intimacy between them, however. A sense of emotional... union. They worked closely, all day, every day. And, after those hard days of work ended, they sought each other out automatically. No day was complete without a fireside chat, followed by hours of comfortable, companionable silence.

Considered in that light, the only real shock was that it had taken them both so long to realize the obvious.

Kissing and nuzzling his face gently, she whispered against his lips, "We can go as slowly as you like, James, although you may eventually wish for more... haste."

He blushed worse at that, clearing his throat and whispering, "You won't need to educate me much, Helen. I have read... one or two texts on the subject of... proper sexuality. I've had lovers before and... I know my own body," he added in an embarrassed whisper.

Helen wet her lips absently, beset by the mental image of him laying in bed, sweaty and trembling, trying not to cry out as he 'abused' himself in the darkness. She squirmed, wondering if his masturbation coincided with his use of the books and pictures she'd accidentally stumbled across one day a few months ago. She'd never actually read any of the saucy novels that emerged every few years to stir up public outrage, but that was largely because she was too busy to find much time for literature. If James bothered keeping the things, he must quite enjoy them. Perhaps she should give them a looking-over, too?

"You know your body, you naughty thing?" she teased, pretending to look severe. "I should punish you for sinning so egregiously."

He blushed and stammered for a moment, then rallied as he realized she was joking. Smirking at her, he demanded, "Has not my poor body been abused enough already?"

"Oh, not nearly enough," she answered, wetting her lips and tugging at his nightshirt. It was a traditional floor-length garment, nothing like those ridiculous Indian pyjamas he was in the habit of wearing at home lately. She almost wished for those now, if only because they would have been easier to negotiate. "Let me see you, James," she whispered, sliding to her feet and urging him up with her.

He gave a shaky nod, clearing his throat and pulling the nightshirt up and off. He was muscular under his clothes, prompting a soft moan from her. His shoulders had always been broad and strong, but she hadn't expected his chest to be every bit as well-defined and... masculine. She let him keep his drawers on for now, wetting her lips and letting her eyes memorize his upper body.

"I meet with your approval, then?" he whispered anxiously, tongue darting out to wet his own lips.

"Very much so," she agreed, smiling and letting her fingers lightly trace his left pectoralis. The muscle quivered under her touch and his skin coloured. "You must be strong," she murmured, hand sliding up to his deltoid and then around to his back. He was warm, firm, toned and well-defined, and she felt a pleasant ache between her legs as she studied him. "You could pick me up and carry me to bed without much effort, I think. In fact, I fully expect you to when we get home."

He groaned at that, nodding eagerly and reaching for the tie of her nightgown. She smiled at his boldness, nodding encouragingly as he untied the ribbon. Unlike him, she'd passed on underwear of any sort, a fact that made James gasp as her garment fluttered to the ground, leaving her bare to his scrutiny.

"Oh, Helen..." he breathed, staring at her naked body with an expression of something akin to wonder. "You're... perfect."

"I wouldn't go that far," she answered, blushing and staring into the fireplace.

The wind was howling outside, worse than it had been when they'd fled back indoors, but the little fire more than kept the small room warm. There was something soothing about the merry way it crackled and popped, something normal and unremarkable, and profoundly domestic. Moving to the hearth, she bent and threw more fuel onto the blaze. It didn't need it, but John had enjoyed looking at her backside when she bent over, so perhaps James would as well. He groaned softly, and she felt him step closer as she straightened, back still to him. She had no idea what to expect from this and that scared a part of her. She'd been used to John: bold and energetic, sometimes almost pushy when his blood got up, and always very, very forceful. She couldn't picture James as that kind of lover, which left her unsure about what was coming or what he expected from her.

When his hands found her, it was her shoulders that he touched, gently urging her away from the fire with a quiet, "You'll get scorched standing so close."

She bit her lip at that, smiling and closing her eyes as she let him gently guide him back towards the sofa. It was so... considerate, so very James Watson. She turned to smile at him, biting her lip at the slight blush still tinting his cheeks. It was almost endearing, how shy he was, but it warned her that he'd require gentle handling, much as John had at first, if for different reasons.

"Would you like to touch me, James?" she offered, reaching for his hands. "Or would you just like to look at me for a bit longer?"

"I think I would stare all night if you let me," he admitted quietly, eyes seeming to dart everywhere on her body at once. "Although you might tire of that."

"No, I think I'd find it gratifying after all the years you've spent pretending _not_ to look," she answered, perching on the sofa and smiling up at him. She leaned back a bit, putting her body on display like one of the girls in those racy photographs of his. "Have your fill, James. Enjoy tonight, any way you care to."

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, standing above her and just staring for a long moment.

She felt downright exposed under his scrutiny, and more than a little aroused by the hunger in his eyes. Part of her wanted to cover herself and shrink from his knowing, penetrating gaze. Another part of her wanted to beg him to stop standing there and just bloody _take_ her.

She quivered slightly when he lifted his hand, making a quiet noise as long, strong fingers stroked lightly over her cheeks. She ached for more, in other places entirely, but there was still something intoxicating in the way he gently explored her face with the tips of his fingers. If she hadn't known him better, she would have assumed he was teasing her. But, when James Watson teased, he wasn't nearly so merciful or tender. If he'd been teasing in earnest, she was sure she would have been begging by now.

This was him as he was when he put his mind to work to unravel some new puzzle. Clearly, he meant to take the time to savour this, to memorize her and learn to guide her responses in the direction of his choice. She squirmed in her seat at the realization, pressing her legs together and letting her head fall back as his hand moved from her face to her throat.

"This is... not what I'm used to," she admitted, panting a tiny bit as anticipation only intensified the things he was making her feel. These same caresses, now gentle and now bold, would soon be directed against targets far more sensitive than her face and neck, she knew. The ache between her legs grew, and she squirmed to try to relieve it, letting her hands move restlessly against her own stomach as James' eagerly explored her breasts. "James..."

"What improper urge are you fighting, darling?" he breathed against her cheek, sitting next to her and gently capturing her hands in his. "You must tell me."

His tone and expression were gentle, but his words couldn't be mistaken for anything but an order. Swallowing hard, wetting her lips, she whispered, "I want to... to abuse myself. You have me... so inflamed, James. It feels as if I'll die if I can't relieve it."

His breath hitched at her words, his hands tightening around hers. "You... do that?" he rasped quietly, eyes twice as hungry as he studied her.

She blushed at that reaction from him, swallowing hard. "I... quite regularly," she told him quietly, trying not to squirm. Considering his inexperience, it was absurd of her to feel so shy in the face of his scrutiny. He should be the nervous one, her mind insisted. "Are you scandalized?"

"Oh, _very_ ," he assured her, tutting and fixing her with a mock-grave look. "I can hardly believe such a thing of you. I might not be able to until I see first-hand proof."

She gasped quietly, stomach swooping. For some reason, his words only amplified her arousal. "You can't mean to say that you want to observe such things..."

"Why wouldn't I?" he countered, wetting his lips and gently squeezing her hands. "It will serve both to titillate and... educate."

"Well, when you put it like that..." she whispered, clearing her throat and ignoring her own discomfort.

It was hard to imagine any other man caring enough about her enjoyment of the sexual act to ask to see her do such things to herself. Even John, who had been capable of considerable tenderness and solicitude, had been more interested in touching her himself than in encouraging her own... self-examination. From any man other than James, the request would have seemed less loving and more prurient. From him, it was not only erotic but, somehow, sweet.

She couldn't quite look at him as she slid a hand between her legs, but the knowledge that he was watching only added to her enjoyment of the familiar caresses she was bestowing on herself. Her lips were already nicely swollen, but she let her fingers trace them a few times, aching for more but adoring the sensation of raw need the teasing roused in her. She could hear James breathing faster, so she slowly looked up, spreading her legs a bit further and smiling shyly at him.

"You like watching this?" she asked, extending her free hand to the man hovering at the far end of the sofa. "Come closer. I can show you how."

Gasping and gulping, he slipped his hand into hers, shifting closer and looking equal parts eager and terrified. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"James," she murmured, smiling gently up at him. "We're about to have sex. I think that entitles you to touch me. Besides," she added, squirming with need, "I want to feel your hands on my body."

"Helen," he groaned at that, wetting his lips and reaching down to lightly explore her folds.

She gasped a bit at that, stunned by how much nicer it felt at his hands than her own. Moaning and nodding, she guided one of his fingers to the little bundle of nerve-endings she'd managed to discover years ago and loved ever since. The clitoris, old texts called it...

"Gentle," she panted as he traced its contours a bit too firmly, skirting the line between pleasure and discomfort. She moaned and nodded her approval as his firm touches turned lighter. "It feels wonderful, but you must... gently," she managed, light-headed as his touches only increased her pleasure. Everything was warm, wet heat, and tense, aching _need._ "James, darling..."

"Helen, my love," he whispered, voice rough with desire. "Please."

She nodded, trembling and aching for more. "Here," she directed breathlessly, tugging at his drawers. "Off."

James nodded eagerly, lifting his hips and tugging them down to reveal an arousal already glistening with moisture. He was not as imposing as John had been, or maybe it was simply that he wasn't her first. She couldn't have said what made him seem less... enormous. She could still easily imagine him satisfying her every need, and without the almost-painful sting that sometimes accompanied being penetrated by her previous lover.

"Good Lord. Yes," she breathed, laying back on the sofa and spreading her legs as she reached up for him. "James, darling..."

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he slid down on top of her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. His skin was warm against hers and, despite his muscular body, there was something soft about the embrace. It wasn't just that he was holding her gently when she'd expected passion, either. Instead of pressing desperately against her until she was sure his bony frame would bruise her, as John so often had, this lover was tenderly wrapping her in flesh and blood, enveloping her without grasping greedily.

Before long, he was moaning and covering her face with kisses, too, hands moving restlessly against her back and sides and erection twitching against her folds. She nodded eagerly, feeling almost intoxicated in the face of his clumsy enthusiasm and obvious need. Mouth capturing his, she reached between them, fingers closing lightly around his arousal. James sobbed into her mouth, hips jumping and chest heaving.

"Helen!"

"Hush, love," she soothed, free hand gently stroking the back of his neck as she just held his straining manhood, revelling in its soft warmth and hard weight. "I need you now."

He whimpered at that, nodding urgently and squirming on top of her. Her hand grew slippery as his body responded to her words and touch and, even though her own body was producing ample lubrication, she eagerly spread his around her opening with her wet fingers, licking her lips at the way the action made him groan and stare. Smiling breathlessly up at him, she brought his head into position, urging him just slightly into her.

He sobbed softly as she clenched around his head, her body aching for so much more of him. At her encouraging nod and hungry look, he braced a hand on the sofa and slowly pushed into her, his body quivering and his expression just short of euphoric. She could hardly blame him for feeling that way. As her own body stretched to accommodate him, she already felt oddly sated, but still somehow desperate for so much more.

James didn't make her wait. Either instinct, or that erotic literature of his, served them well. As soon as he was fully inside her, his hips were thrusting hard against hers, tearing a soft shout from her at the unexpected jump in stimulation. Clinging to him and nodding, she rocked, too, sobbing his name and trembling with pleasure and desire as every thrust carried her higher.

"Darling," he choked, hands sliding down to urge her legs up around his waist.

She gasped as that not only allowed him deeper access, but also a dizzying new angle of penetration that left her on fire. Nodding and clinging with her legs as well as her arms, she panted and trembled, hips jerking hard against his. Her whole body was aflame, burning with a familiar tension that grew more unbearable as it grew more lovely. Granted, it had been some time, but she couldn't remember ever having built so far, so fast. It was all she could do to cling to some semblance of composure and then James, damn him and bless him, had a hand between them, fingers lightly manipulating the little organ she'd shown him.

Pleasure exploded within her, leaving her light-headed and aching with delight. Whole body tensing and bowing up towards him, she was suddenly climaxing hard, sobbing and crying out as she spasmed around and against him. Such fits tended to end quickly for her but, between his fingers, his continued hard thrusts at that perfect angle, and her own powerful emotions, this one went on and on, seeming to last a small eternity.

Finally, whole body aching and singing, she stilled under him, panting and watching with a dazed smile as he continued to thrust into her, his face a mask of pleasure and love. It didn't take many more such strokes before he was plunged into an orgasm of his own, howling and sobbing as he jerked again and again against her, emptying a little more of himself into her each time. She felt utterly sated but, even so, every time he moved against her again, a little shock of delight tore through her. When he finally collapsed against her with a whimpered exhalation of breath, she gave a happy sigh, lazily kissing his cheek as she enjoyed his warmth and weight on top of her.

They lay in comfortable silence for a good while, the sound of their panting broken only by the crackling of the fire and the wind howling outside. She felt so separated from the outside world right now, as if nothing mattered or even existed except her pleasantly-humming body and the man resting atop and embracing it. God, it had been far too long since she'd held a man close and felt him slowly going soft inside her. It was... so gratifying, left her feeling peaceful and content and as if nothing could possibly be amiss in the world.

"James," she breathed finally, kissing his shoulder.

"Good Lord, woman," he panted, smiling breathlessly down at her. "Why didn't we do that years ago?"

"If I'd suggested it, you'd have blushed and buried your nose in a book," she countered, beaming.

He growled softly in answered to Helen's words, kissing her tenderly. "Let's sleep out here by the fire tonight?"

"Mmm, not sure I could move if I wanted to," she answered, closing her eyes with a happy sigh. "You've quite exhausted me, darling."

"That's a first. Normally it's me struggling to keep up with you," he joked, reaching for a blanket and drawing it over them. "Comfortable, love?"

"More than," she assured him, kissing his cheek and wrinkling her nose. "We're definitely shaving that off in the morning."

"The things I do for you," he chuckled, giving her a complacent smile.

"I'll make it worth your while," she promised, smirking up at him and giving his bum a playful smack.

"Helen!" he gasped, hips jumping a little.

His expression was shocked but not displeased, so she did it again, wetting her lips. "Problem, Jimmy?"

"No problem at all," he assured her, his smiling eyes promising 'retaliation' very soon.

If he hadn't looked so drowsy, and so sweetly peaceful, she might have tried to tease him into doing something now. As it was, she was more than happy to just cuddle close and and enjoy this new level of intimacy with her dearest companion, the only partner she could imagine having in her work.

"Do you ever think about the future?" she asked quietly after a moment's comfortable silence.

"I try not to, actually. Some things... are sure to be. Everything else probably isn't worth fussing about," he told her, smiling and shrugging. "I will die some day. So will you, I'm sure. Until death comes to one of us, we'll work and love together, and probably bicker like an old married couple the whole time. After all, friendship and our work will still bind us." Kissing her cheek, he breathed in her ear, "I find myself remarkably comfortable with these facts, darling."

"James," she whispered, more touched than pained by his words, but still shocked that he could talk about death right now. "Don't..."

"Hush, Helen Magnus," he soothed, tangling a hand in her hair. "We're young and healthy and the future is... so much further away than you can possibly imagine. For the next few decades, at least, let's focus on the loving and the fighting?" he suggested, laughing even though he clearly wasn't joking.

He was right that they would bicker constantly, but they already did that and both quite enjoyed it. He actually seemed to be looking forward to future conflicts.

"I will _never_ understand you," she answered, smiling and kissing him. "But I'm still glad to have you."

"And I will always adore the puzzle you present me," James assured her, smiling warmly and nuzzling her face. "Especially those times when I can sort out bits of it, and gain some clue on how to act."

"You knew this was coming," she realized, smiling and resisting the urge to swat him for having known about her affections for him and not having done anything about them until now.

"There were... certain hints, you might say. Clues from a little bird. But I had no way of being entirely positive that I wasn't imagining your interest. It seemed most prudent to wait until I was sure of your feelings."

She bit her lip at that, pointing out, "You're too cautious sometimes."

"And, other times, not cautious enough. Perhaps some day, I'll find a way to strike the proper balance, but today is not that day. I wish this had come sooner, but I wouldn't have risked moving before you were ready for me to do so. Don't fuss, lass. You are more than worth the wait I endured."

"I'm not so sure you are," Helen joked, smirking at him and snuggling close again with a yawn. "Good night.

"Good night, my love," he answered, kissing her hair with a smile. "Sweet dreams."

She bit her lip. "You know I don't have those."

"Then you're overdue," he answered, kissing her head again. "Sweet dreams," he repeated, almost an order, from his tone. "Good night, my dearest."

"Good night, James. I..." she began, faltering when it came to the actual confession.

"It's all right, Helen. I know," he soothed, rubbing her back. Judging by his tender, adoring smile, he actually _did_ know, too. "Rest, darling."

"Thank you," she whispered, smiling gratefully up at him and leaning to kiss his cheek before closing her eyes.

Outside, it sounded threatening and dreadful. Inside, wrapped in his warmth and scent, and lulled by his heartbeat, she felt safe and peaceful. She usually resisted sleep, even when tired, because she knew her dreams, if she had any, couldn't possibly be pleasant. Now, though, asleep in the arms of her old friend and new lover, there seemed no doubt that they would be. His ultimate gift to her, one of many, she realized, smiling to herself as she drifted.

 **The End**


End file.
